What I've Tasted of Desire
by LivingintheLibrary
Summary: Martha Jones had been pretty unlucky in love. Meeting a time-traveling alien, seeing the universe, and saving the world, all while studying to become a doctor, will do that to you. Maybe there was once a certain American who helped her in her world-saving, but he didn't even remember her now. Martha thought she was over Sam Winchester. That is, until she found him again. Sartha.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Now what on earth could this be? A multi-chaper Sartha fic? YES! IT IS! Read and enjoy (and review, if you feel like it). Also, cookies to anyone who knows where the title comes from. Appearances aside, it's not porn (sorry if that's what you were hoping for).**

* * *

It was just another hunt, really. At least, it should have been, until that British chick showed up.

The boys were in Rhinelander, Wisconsin (No, not hunting Hodags, although they _had_ met a guy who'd killed one a few years back), where there had been several disappearances in recent weeks. The victims' bodies had all been found days later with obvious signs of brutal torturing before death. Despite Sam's insistence that it could be some utterly unsupernatural whackjob behind this, Dean was adamant.

"There's something more going on here, Sammy. I can feel it in my gut."

"Are you sure that's not just the four brats you had earlier?" Sam quipped as they walked back to their motel.

"We are in Wisconsin, Sam. You don't just turn down an offer of free bratwurst. And anyway, that's not the point. Look, all these victims," Dean pulled out the files they'd "borrowed" from the police earlier while impersonating the FBI. "they have nothing in common. Middle-aged white guy, Asian teenage girl, lady in her thirties, who's a total MILF, by the way-"

"Dean!" Sam pulled bitchface #17 (_that's totally inappropriate and not what we're talking about_)

"Sorry. Anyway, there's nothing."

Sam nodded.

"I know. I'm the one who did all the research, remember?"

"Yeah, but you are the geek one, after all." Dean said, grinning cheekily.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

* * *

Sam and Dean strolled into the hospital the next day, suits donned and FBI badges ready to flash. A fourth body had turned up in an abandoned warehouse that morning, same horrific circumstances as the others, and they decided to take a look. These plans were averted, however, by a young woman who seemed to be after the same thing.

As the two brothers strolled up to the reception desk, they overheard an odd conversation.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't let you into the morgue without proper clearance." said a plump, kindly nurse behind the desk.

"You have my credentials." the other woman retorted in an English accent, her voice ringing with authority and professionalism. "U.N.I.T. has clearance on par with every government institution in the country, including Homeland Security and the CIA. Phone my supervisor if you don't believe me."

"I'm afraid you'll have to take this up with the hospital's administrator." the nurse said apologetically. The Brit sighed with exasperation, but politely thanked the woman for her time and turned to walk away.

Sam and Dean were about to take their turn at the desk when the woman who had been ahead of them stopped dead, directly in the taller Winchester's path.

"Excuse me," Sam muttered as he tried to go around her, but a hand shot out of nowhere and, with a surprisingly strong grip, turned him to face her.

Sam took a good look at the mystery British woman for the first time. She was beautiful, there was no denying that; large, intelligent eyes gazed up at him above an adorable button nose and full, soft-looking lips that were parted in shock, all of it molded from perfect skin like liquid chocolate. Her doe eyes were wide and seemed to be filled with tears. She gasped raggedly and a whispered _"Oh, my God."_ passed through her lips.

Sam gave her a confused half-smile.

"Um… excuse me? Can I help you with something?"

Still she said nothing, but continued to gaze at him as if seeing the ghost of a dead lover. Dean eyed the two of them, as befuddled as his brother.

"Right…" Sam started to awkwardly pull away from the woman. "I'll just-"

"No!" she said suddenly. "Oh, God, just… Sam, I-" She put a hand over her mouth as tears began to run down her face.

Both brothers were visibly startled at her use of Sam's name, but before either one could say anything, the dark-skinned beauty turned and fled.

"Wait!" Sam shouted after her. "Do I know you? Stop!" He glanced back at Dean, who made a shooing motion and hissed "Go!"

Sam needed no further encouragement, and his long legs carried him swiftly out the doors.

"Well, I guess this trip's shot to hell." Dean muttered, then glanced at the flabbergasted nurse. "Thanks for your time." he said with a charming smile, before following his brother out of the building.

It took Sam a lot more effort than he expected to catch up with the Englishwoman; she was clearly accustomed to running evasively. He reached her, however, as she was struggling to unlock her car with shaking hands.

"Wait!" Sam said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She gasped and tensed up, gripping the handle of the still-locked car door as if physically restraining herself from turning around.

"Who are you?" the Hunter asked, moving around to lean on her car, both so he could face her and to prevent her from running away again. "Have we met?" The woman let out a shaky laugh.

"Believe me, mate, we've met."

Sam's face scrunched up in concern, and his companion bit her lip and looked away, once again blinking back tears.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I really don't remember who you are. If I've done something to hurt you-" she gave another humorless chuckle.

"You could never hurt me, Sam Winchester."

Sam only looked more confused, and a little bit sad.

"Could you just tell me who you are? Maybe I'll remember something…" She shook her head and took a deep breath, composing herself like a pro.

"My name's Martha. Martha Jones."

Dean jogged down the street until his brother was in sight, then slowed down and watched for a minute. Sam and British Chick (who was pretty hot, he noted) seemed to be engaged in some sort of intense staring contest. It looked like they were having a 'moment'. Dean was at a loss as to what to do, so he did the only thing any reasonable older brother _could_ do in a situation like this; he obnoxiously interrupted.

Sam just looked at Martha for several long seconds. She didn't look familiar, but… there was something in him that _wanted_ her to, like a part of his soul cared for this woman and wished to stay with her and never leave. It was absurd, he knew, and yet…

"Hey, Sammy! You gonna introduce me to your friend?" Dean skidded to a halt next to his brother, beaming, then looked at Martha and turned on the 'hey-look-how-sexy-_I_-am' smolder that never failed to infuriate Sam. "Hi. I'm-"

"Dean." she finished for him. The man's jaw dropped in shock.

"Uh," he huffed a nervous laugh. "Yeah, how did you-"

Sam's eyes widened with a sudden thought.

"Hey," he pushed his brother out of the way and leaned down a bit to fully face Martha. Lowering his voice, he asked "Are you a psychic?"

She smiled softly.

"No, nothing like that. I'm Martha, by the way." she introduced herself to Dean, shaking his hand firmly, before turning back to Sam.

"Is there somewhere we could talk privately?" Martha asked him, still clearly a bit unnerved. "I suppose I have a lot to explain to you both."

* * *

The boys led Martha into their motel room, and Dean reached into his duffle bag. He pulled out a silver knife and turned to their guest.

"Now, I'm not gonna hurt you, but we just need to-"

Martha rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, I know the drill." she held out her hand for the blade and Dean handed it to her warily. "I'm not a shape-shifter or a demon, but if it makes you feel better…" She made a small cut on her forearm and, without so much as a glance at either of the Hunters, reached into the bag and extracted the salt and holy water. With a practiced hand, Martha grabbed a glass from the kitchenette and mixed the two, making a face as she downed the contents of the cup.

"Alright," said Dean. "So you're a Hunter."

"Not exactly. Sit down, please. This could take a while."

Dean started to grumble something about being told to sit down in his own hotel room, but Sam quieted him with a glance at sat on the edge of one of the beds. Martha took a seat on the other, facing them.

"Why did you run away?" Sam inquired. Martha sighed.

"I was just shocked, I suppose."

Sam looked like he was about to question her further, but his brother cut in before he could.

"More importantly, how do you know who we are?" Dean asked in the tone of a cop interrogating an uncooperative suspect. If Martha noticed the rudeness, she chose to ignore it.

"This is going to sound completely mad, I know, but please just listen." The brothers nodded. "Time was reversed, so no one remembers it now, but there was a year, a Year-that-Never-Was…" Thus, Martha Jones began her story for the first time in more than a year-and-a-half.

The Doctor. The Master. The Toclafane. It was familiar, the routine, and as she talked her mind wandered back to the last time she had given the speech...

_In an over-crowded house in England, her audience knew her to be a legend. She had never asked for this status, and to be honest, she didn't want it. Regardless, Martha did what she had to do. As much as she didn't feel worthy, the fate of the world rested with her._

_"He has saved your lives so many times, and you never even knew he was there." As she neared the end of her tale, Martha realized she wasn't talking about the Doctor anymore, not really._

_"I've seen him. I know him." Instead, her thoughts were on a tall, long-haired American whom Martha thought she would never see again._

_"I love him."_

"Wait, wait, wait. Aliens?" Dean interrupted. "Really? _Aliens?_" Disbelief was etched across his face.

"Like you've never seen anything stranger," she said, giving him what was almost a perfect imitation of Sam's bitchface (although on a pretty girl Dean found it much less annoying).

"She has a point, Dean." Sam told his brother. "Let's at least hear her out."

Martha beamed, and Dean noticed that she seemed unable to keep her eyes off of his little brother for more than ten seconds.

"I walked all across the world, telling everyone I met my story. Some of them were as skeptical as you are, Dean, but in that time skepticism was hard to hold onto. When I made it to America, I met Sam. He was trying to fight off some Spheres, and I told him about where they came from and how to avoid them. He taught me about the supernatural, too. There were still some pretty nasty things running around in the dark, after all. He-you, Sam, traveled with me across the continent as I spread the word of the Doctor, doing a little Hunting when we ran into something evil we could kill."

"Hold on," Dean cut Martha off once again. "Where was I?"

Martha's eyes filled with something akin to pity.

"You were in Hell, Dean."

Both Winchesters paled.

"What?"

"Oh, maybe that got erased as well! You'd made a deal with a demon…" Martha's face brightened, then fell once again as both men shook their heads.

"No, that's still reality," said Dean bitterly. Sam looked hesitant for a moment.

"If you don't mind me asking, Martha, what happened? To Dean, I mean, in this… 'Year-That-Never-Was'?"

"Sam," Dean said warningly.

"Don't give me that, Dean. You want to know as much as I do."

"No, to be perfectly honest, I don't. I've died enough times as it is. I have no desire to hear about another one."

"The Toclafane." Martha said. "There was one after Sam, but you… You died saving your brother, if that helps."

And it did. Dean shut his cake-hole, and let Martha finish her story.

"Sam stayed with me, all the way to Japan, if you can believe it. Even with so much terror and destruction going on, it was beautiful. We walked in the mountains, and you loved it, Sam." she smiled sadly, remembering.

"Yeah," Sam locked gazes with her and whispered "I bet I did."

Dean looked back and forth between the other two, once again with the feeling of being a third wheel. The sappy eyesex got to be too much for him, and he coughed awkwardly.

"So, uh, what happened next?"

Sam and Martha snapped out of whatever kind of weird trance they'd been in and looked at Dean. This was one painful story, if Martha looking like she was about to cry every two minutes was anything to go by.

"I… was the only one to make it out of Japan. I'm sorry, I really don't want to talk about it." She blinked back her tears and put on a brave face, and Dean had to admit that she was strong.

"So, we were both dead?" Sam asked.

"Hey, nothing new there, right?" Dean said in a joking manner. "Alright, so, Marty." Martha gave a small smile at the nickname. "That has got to be the most well-thought out… load of crap I have ever heard."

The woman's face fell.

"You don't believe me?"

"Well," Dean chuckled. "I mean, come on. Aliens? Time travel? Flying balls of death? I've got to admit, you did your homework on us, but all this is just a little too hard to believe." The laughter was gone from Dean's tone now.

Martha stood and faced the Hunter, glaring at him with those dark eyes which just a few moments ago were swimming in pain and heartbreak.

"You listen to me, Dean Winchester." she stepped closer, until she was right up in his personal space. The woman was a couple of inches shorter than he, but the aura of righteous anger surrounding her made Martha Jones seem twice as tall. In that moment, she was every bit the soldier Dean was. "I don't care if you've been to Hell and back. I have seen things you couldn't imagine. I could tell you stories that would turn your world upside down. You know better than anyone that most people's perception of the universe is only a tiny fraction of what's out there. So don't. You. Call. Me. A liar."

Dean's eyes widened, and he fought the urge to step back. He knew he'd been right about the strength in this woman; he saw it in her eyes. What he didn't see in her eyes was a lie. _Maybe she_ could _be telling the truth, _he thought to himself.

"Enough, Dean." Dean felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see his brother looking down at him.

"C'mon, Sam. Do you actually believe all this? It's crazy."

"Crazy is kind of what we do."

"Yeah, but, I mean…" Dean looked back and forth with exasperation.

"Anyway, I have an idea of how we can prove it." Sam announced.

Martha looked surprised.

"Prove it? Time was reversed. Everything was undone and no one but my family, the Doctor, and I remembers."

Sam smirked.

"Actually," he said, looking slyly at Dean, "I think we might know someone else who could back you up."

"What?" his brother asked. "Who?"

Sam gave Dean that _look_ again, and Dean seriously considered smacking him upside the head.

"Cas."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I know, I know, the last thing you want is a boring author's note before the chapter, but hear me out! So, school's going to start soon. Bummer, right? Which means I'll have less abundant free time to dedicate to stealing other people's characters and making them my own (Bwahahaha! I own none of this, by the way). I'm shooting for weekly updates, but I'm a huge procrastinator, so we can only hope and pray that I'll actually get stuff done. Anyways, enjoy!**

* * *

"It couldn't hurt, Dean." Sam pleaded with a puppy-dog stare that they both knew would shatter his brother's resolve in seconds.

"Fine." Dean grumbled as he flipped open his cell phone and dialed. It rang for a moment. "Hey, Cas, we're in Rhinelander, Wisconsin at a place called the, uh, Pineview Lodge. If you could meet us here-"

"Hello Dean." A deep monotone voice spoke from across the room, just a couple of feet behind Martha, who screamed in surprise and whirled around.

"What the hell?"

"Not quite." What might have been a smirk passed across the newcomer's face before it settled back into his usual stoicism.

The former time traveler and the Angel of the Lord stood staring at one another for several long seconds.

Martha took in the sight of this stranger, his messy hair and crooked tie and trench coat (The Doctor's was better), and wondered at how he could have entered the room without her noticing.

"Cas, this is Martha. Marty, meet Castiel." Dean introduced the two. Castiel's eyes widened a fraction and he stepped uncomfortably close to her. His head was tilted thoughtfully, and an electric blue gaze pinned Martha to the spot. Dean looked like he was about to say something else, but Cas interrupted.

"She has told you her story?" he asked. Everyone else in the room froze.

"What?" Sam choked out. Castiel turned from Martha to the two Winchesters.

"How she saved the world from the future-human abominations and the alien man?"

Martha gasped in shock.

"How do you know about that?"

Castiel looked back at her, and there was a pause before he answered.

"Heaven was quite aware of the Master's exploits," he finally said. "Though most of my brothers considered it… 'not our problem'"

"Hang on," Martha said "_Heaven?"_ at the same time that Dean burst out "You mean she was telling the truth?!"

Castiel nodded. "Yes… and yes. The world fell apart as we watched, but, regretfully, no angel made a move to stop it. That Master, as he called himself, was not of the Earth. This made us a bit… out of our depth, you might say."

"Heaven? _Angels?_" Martha's voice rose. "Would someone like to tell me what the _hell_ he's talking about? Who are you, anyway?"

"I am an Angel of the Lord." Castiel told her calmly.

"Right. Cheers, mate." The angel looked confused.

"'Like you've never seen anything stranger,'" Dean butted in, mocking Martha in a bad imitation of her accent. He was rewarded with yet another British bitchface.

"Okay, fine. Angels. Right. So, you're saying that angels, _angels in heaven_, knew all about this and did nothing at all to help? When, everywhere, people were dying, children were losing their parents, the entire bloody planet was living in fear and pain, _Angels of the Lord did nothing?" _Martha was nearly screaming now, and Sam and Dean had backed into a corner to avoid her tirade.

"We had our orders." Castiel replied. "Angels are meant to watch and guide _this_ planet. The Master and the Doctor were from another world entirely. Even the human descendants whom that monster turned into his army had never set foot on Earth."

"You said "regretfully"." Martha spat. "It sounds like you, _Castiel_," she said his name mockingly "wanted to do something. Why didn't you?"

"I was under orders." Cas said firmly. "Tell me something, Martha Jones; would you go against a command from Heaven?"

The human met the unearthly stare head-on and lowered her voice.

"If it kept innocent people from dying, then yes."

Castiel's almost-smile ghosted across his face again.

"You are very much like your Doctor, you know."

"I take that as a compliment."

"As well you should. What you did, however, was… beyond commendable." the angel continued. "I have seldom seen such bravery in a single human being." His eyes shot over to Sam for a moment. "Even if you did occasionally have… help."

Martha noticed where Castiel's gaze had gone, and the corner of her mouth quirked up. So Heaven knew about that, did they? She didn't really care. There was only one person Martha wanted aware of what had happened on her journey across America, but he had as little memory of the entire ordeal as the rest of the world.

Sam and Dean would never admit to _cowering_ at their new friend's one-sided shouting match with Cas, but in all honesty that was pretty much what happened. Both were impressed with her, Dean grudgingly and Sam with what was practically reverence. He had never seen anyone but Dean stand up to an angel like that and, frankly, Martha made it freaking attractive.

"Damn," Dean whispered with his usual eloquence when the two were done. He was looking at Martha with respect now, instead of the frustrated condescension that had been his reaction to her since the beginning. He then strolled over to the angel, picking up the shattered pieces of his swagger as he did so.

"Kudos, Marty." Dean clapped Martha on the shoulder. "She really told you, huh Cas?" Castiel appeared to ignore the comment, electing to give Martha and Sam a pensive look instead.

"Dean," Cas said suddenly. "I suggest you and I partake in an activity, elsewhere."

His friend looked confused.

"Uh, what? 'Partake in an activity'?"

"Yes," Castiel nodded. "You tend to enjoy frequenting establishments at which one may purchase copious amounts of alcohol. Perhaps we should visit one of those."

This only served to make Dean seem more confused, and a little uncomfortable.

"Are you asking me to go to a bar with you?"

"I'm sorry, was that unclear?"

"No, I guess not. Um… Sammy? You gonna be okay with Marty here?"

Sam could only nod silently. There was some weird crap happening today.

"Alright. Let's go, Cas."

As the bewildered man exited the motel room with an angel in tow, Castiel turned and graced Martha with what was probably the most awkward attempt at a wink in history, followed by a pointed look at Sam. She stood motionless for a moment, but as soon as the sound of the Impala's engine roaring to life could be heard, the woman burst into peals of laughter.

The sight of Martha's mirth was enough in itself to make Sam grin like an idiot.

"That angel," she gasped in between giggles "is very bad at being subtle."

"What?" Sam asked, goofy smile still plastered across his face. Martha shook her head, laughter subsiding.

"He left us alone on purpose." She said.

"Why would he do that?"

Martha sighed.

"I assume he thinks I have more to tell you. Things… things Dean might not want to hear."

Sam's blood ran cold.

"You mean… like when he went to Hell?" he asked tentatively. Sam didn't think he wanted to hear about that either.

His companion shook her head.

"No, not that." She sat down on the bed again, patting the space next to her. Sam took the invitation and settled down beside Martha. His questioning gaze was enough to start her talking again.

"You and I traveled together for about four months, Sam. There was… a lot that went on."

"Like?" he urged her to tell him. She huffed a laugh.

"Oh, the usual. Hopping from town to town, running, fighting for our lives. But," there was hesitation in her voice. "there was more. Between you and me."

Sam tried to ignore the thrill that ran through him at the implications in these words. _Stop it,_ he berated himself,_ I'm sure that's not what she means._

"Go on," he encouraged nervously, "you can tell me."

Her mouth twitched up in a smile.

"I think," Martha told him, "it would be better to show you." And suddenly her lips were pressed against his, fingers tangling in long, soft hair. Sam made a sound of surprise and delight, and before he knew it his hands were laid gently on her waist and he was kissing back.

The moment grew more heated and Martha straddled his lap, moving like she knew every inch of his body (which, come to think of it, she probably did). Sam wrapped strong arms around her back and pulled her closer. Insistent hands tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he pulled back, eyes wide, and blurted out "I started the Apocalypse!"

Martha shifted off of him and stared.

"What?" she asked, and it all came tumbling out. She deserved to know; after all, she had told Sam and Dean her story. It was only fair he tell her his. Lilith, Ruby, the demon blood, breaking the final seal, Sam tried to cover everything. He wasn't nearly the storyteller Martha was, and he found himself stumbling and having to backtrack, but he managed to get enough out coherently to have her understand.

Each time he reached a particularly shameful point, Sam squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear watching Martha's expression change from sympathy to horror, to revulsion. But each time he opened them again, she was watching him in the same way as before. Her expression was tender and kind, even when he expected nothing less than for her to run from the room, screaming hatred in his face. God knows it's what Sam thought he deserved.

"And now the Devil's out of his cage," Sam finished. "And it's only a matter of time before he destroys the world. I just figured you ought to know. Before this, you know, went… any further."

Martha just nodded.

"Alright, good to know."

Sam gaped at her.

"That's all you've got to say? You're not upset? You don't, I don't know, _hate_ me?"

The female's expression was fierce as she cupped Sam's face in her hands.

"Sam Winchester," she said firmly, "you stuck out one end of the world with me. I guess it's time that I return the favor."

And he was kissing her again, trying to convey not only his immense gratitude but all the other inexplicable things he felt for her through the language of hands and mouths and panting breath.

Neither one heard the door open.

"Oh my god, Cas! Is _this_ why you made me take you to a bar? Jesus."

Sam and Martha pulled apart and rested their foreheads together, grinning, while there was a flutter of wings signaling the angel's departure and Dean stomped around the room muttering about "freaking angels" and "at least it's not my bed".


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm not altogether happy with this chapter, but I promised weekly updates for as long as that was possible, and darn it, I'm gonna give them to you! Also, I apologize for any medical inaccuracies. The information on the cardiovascular system was taken from my 9th grade biology notes (which I luckily still had, for whatever reason) and any misinformation is the fault of me and my poor note-taking abilities. Anyway, ON WITH THE SARTHA!**

* * *

Martha checked out of her own room at a Bed and Breakfast across town and checked in next door to Sam and Dean. The new lovebirds, to the older brother's annoyance, had decided to work on this hunt together, but it turned out Marty was pretty damn good at research. Hey, at least it got Dean out of doing it.

"So you think this is an _alien_?" Sam asked her yet again as they sat at a small table, bent over a book and a laptop, respectively. Dean glanced at them from where he sat on his bed, sharpening knives with maybe a bit more gusto than was necessary. Somebody had to keep up the masculinity levels in the room, and Sam, with his big puppy eyes and stumbling flirtations, certainly wasn't going to be the one to do it.

Martha nodded, typing something on her keyboard. Sam took a peek at her screen, and his mouth dropped open.

"Holy crap, what kind of clearance do you _have_?"

The woman smirked. Sam had nearly had a heart attack when he first saw her computer, praising it as a "thing of beauty". Dean told him to stop being such a geek. Not only envious of the technology she was issued, both Hunters had been a bit put out at the fact that U.N.I.T. was pretty much a group of people doing exactly what they did, only with aliens, legality, and, oh yeah, _getting paid _for it.

"I can get into databases you couldn't even imagine _existing_," Martha teased, glancing sidelong at Sam. He grinned, and the two regressed into nerdspeak that made Dean glad he had something else to focus on.

It wasn't that his brother being in a relationship bothered Dean. Far from it. He'd been bugging the kid to get with someone for years, and after that whole thing with Ruby… No, the problem was that there were so many more important things going on, like, oh, maybe the goddamn _Apocalypse_? Apart from that, the two just seemed so freaking _perfect_ together. It was almost creepy. They had the same intense expression when they read, the same workaholic nature when it came to research, and Dean was fairly sure that it wouldn't be long before they starting finishing each other's sentences. The older brother remembered, in the very brief time he'd known Jess, the way Sam had looked at her, all softness and care and shooting sugar and rainbows out of his eyes. He wasn't at that level yet with Martha (thank God) but Dean could see the beginning of it, the telltale signs that his little brother was falling hard and fast.

"So you're saying that werewolves are actually aliens?" Sam's flabbergasted cry shook Dean from his thoughts.

"The virus is extraterrestrial in origin, yeah." Martha confirmed.

"Wow. And all this time… Dean, can you believe it? Alien life, it's just-just _insane_!" There was a huge nerd-grin splitting Sam's face.

"That's certainly one word for it." Dean said, smiling sardonically. His brother just huffed at him and went back to conversing excitedly with his new-found geek buddy.

There were so many mushy feelings clouding up the room you could have cut them with one of Dean's knives. Frankly, he was sick of the awkwardness of being a third wheel, and battled it the only way Dean Winchester knew how: being irritating. He suddenly interrupted Sam in the middle of some anecdote by humming "Martha My Dear" very loudly, which earned him a spectacular bitchface from his brother, but a smile and a laugh from Marty when she recognized the tune. Huh. It seemed he was growing on her. As it happened, the feeling was mutual (not that Dean was likely to admit it).

* * *

"Alright," Sam declared a while later. Dean had retired from his knife-sharpening and was settled in front of the television. "This is getting us nowhere. Whatever did this isn't following the pattern of anything I've ever seen. Not so far as I can tell, anyway. We should go to that warehouse where they found the most recent body, see what we can see."

"I agree," Martha chimed in, closing her laptop. "It's hard to know what we're up against, be it alien or one of yours, without scoping out the place for ourselves."

"Great," Dean said, finishing his beer and switching off the TV. "Thought you'd never ask. I'll drive, you two can cuddle in the back or whatever." He smacked the door frame on his way out, spinning the keys to his car around his finger. "Let's go."

The Winchesters hopped straight into Dean's car without a second thought, but Martha lingered for a moment, trailing a hand across the hood. So this was the famous Impala. During the Year-That-Never-Was, whenever Sam would talk about his brother, he would always mention this car. Dean's "baby", as he called it. Of all the things that had been destroyed and brought back from that hell year, the sleek black Chevrolet probably symbolized the most. It was good as new (more or less) and Sam and Dean were alive and ready to save the world yet again.

"Hey Marty, you comin'?" Dean shouted out the driver's side window.

"Yeah." Martha slid into the back seat, an odd little smile on her face.

* * *

The warehouse was surrounded by a high fence, the gate of which, much to the brothers' dismay, had an electronic lock. Sam and Dean's lock picks were useless.

"Hey, Marty," Dean turned to her, "think you could use that fancy clearance of yours to get us in here?"

"I probably could," Martha began thoughtfully, "but the downside of working for a secret government agency is that it's, well, secret. With the time it would take to go through all the proper channels and convince the local authorities that I actually have reason to be here," she was backing away from the fence now, pensive expression replaced with a small, sly smile, "it would probably be easier to just do this." And with a short running start, Martha leaped up onto the chain link fence, scaled it like a monkey, did a freaking _back flip_ over the top, and landed perfectly in a crouch on the other side.

She flipped her hair up out of her face and grinned at Sam and Dean, whose mouths were hanging open in shock.

"Coming, boys?"

Neither moved for a moment as the British badass turned and strolled casually over to the building. Dean clutched at Sam's shoulder.

"Sammy," he said, "marry that girl." Then the Hunters scrambled over the fence to catch up with the newest member of their team.

The sight that greeted Sam, Dean, and Martha as they ducked under the crime scene tape was not a pretty one. The warehouse was old and damp, the pungent odor of mildew pervaded by the metallic tang of congealed blood. In the center of the open space sat something like a perverse version of an operating table, with arm and leg straps to restrain a victim, surrounded by all manner of horrific instruments.

The boys scanned for EMF while Martha did her own investigating.

"What were you thinking it could be?" Martha asked Sam. "If it is something supernatural, I mean."

"Well," he began, one ear still tuned into the converted Walkman, "Dean and I were thinking a djin, or a nest of vampires maybe. None of the victims were drained of blood, though. Not more than what they lost while… being tortured."

"They weren't missing any parts, either." Dean piped up. "So whatever this is wasn't eating them."

"It's interesting, though," Martha observed, walking around the table with a thoughtful crease in her brow, "how they were all tortured mercilessly, for hours, but their _deaths_ were quick. Stabbed through the heart, if I remember correctly." Sam nodded in affirmation. "Quite professionally, too." she continued. "Straight into the aortic valve then down through the septum, severing the chordae tendonae in the left ventricle. Someone knew what they were doing."

Sam and Dean blinked at her, surprised and baffled by the medical jargon.

"I thought you couldn't get access to the coroner's report?" Dean said in an accusatory tone.

"I couldn't. But I did manage to sneak into the morgue and get a look at the bodies for a bit." In answer to their questioning stares, she shrugged and said simply "I'm a doctor."

Dean turned around as Martha walked to the other side of the room, pulling Sam down to his height.

"Dude," he whispered to his brother. "_Doctor_. Man, you are _way_ out of your league." Sam opened his mouth to protest, but whatever he was planning to say was lost as the (apparent) doctor called to the Winchesters.

"Oh my God, Sam! Dean! Come and look at this."

Martha was crouching down on the floor, rubbing some type of viscous fluid between her fingers. As the other two neared her, they could see a puddle of the stuff on the floor.

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked, kneeling next to her with a disgusted expression on his face..

"Morphic residue." she said, her eyes alight. "Oh, this is brilliant!"

"Sorry, why exactly is that a good thing?" Sam inquired, wrinkling his nose at the foreign substance. "And what is… 'morphic residue' anyway?"

"It's left behind when certain species change their shape," Martha explained, "and it's good because it narrows down the possibilities of what's killing these people by a lot. We know it's not human, anyway."

"So it's definitely an alien?"

Martha shook her head.

"Not necessarily. You know when shifters shed their skin? It's covered in the stuff." She stood up, wiping goo-covered fingers on her pants.

"Hey, Dean, you remember that shifter in St. Louis?" Sam exclaimed. Dean gave him a look that clearly said _Duh. You think I could have possibly forgotten the thing that got me on America's Most Wanted?_ "It's just like that. The kidnappings, the torture…"

"There's no skin, though, Sam. Just this… morphic crap."

"He's right." Martha interjected, placing a hand on Sam's arm unconsciously. Something about him seemed to relax, to soften, whenever they touched. "But that's just one example. It could still be from earth. You two are the experts there."

"Well, whatever it is," Dean said, "It's a monster and it's killing people, which means it's our responsibility to find it and gank it." He held up his hand for a fist-bump. "Don't leave me hanging!" Sam and Martha exchanged identical eye rolls and walked away.

"Hey!" Dean called after them. "I'm your ride out of here, you know! C'mon!"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Holy crap, people are actually following and favoriting this story! It's obviously for the Sartha, because no way is it good enough writing to warrant such a positive response. Anywho, school's back in session, and I'm taking some pretty heavy classes this year. Why? Because I want to commit suicide via homework, that's why. Nah (although there is every chance of that happening), I just like to challenge myself. Unfortunately, my wish for a challenge means that there will be considerably less time I can dedicate to this fic. Hopefully updates will stay weekly, but no promises.**

**In other news, this chapter was _supposed_ to be pure fluff, but then... this happened. There's still fluff, don't worry, but Sam just got all emo on me and yeah.**** Sorry. And sorry for the insanely long author's note, too. I'll try to keep them shorter in the future.**

**Anyway, STORY TIME!**

* * *

"…And you'll never guess who walked in. The bloody queen! Queen Elizabeth. The _first! _And you know what she said?" Martha was practically hiccupping with laughter.

"What?" Sam asked.

"She called the Doctor her sworn enemy and, I swear to God, said the words 'off with his head!'"

Sam chuckled.

"What had he done to make her hate him so much?"

"That's the thing-he didn't know! Said he hadn't even met her yet. Being a time-traveler… 'wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey', as he would say."

"So let me get this straight;" a wide grin adorned Sam's face. "You've been to the moon, had Shakespeare write a sonnet for you, commanded a ship, commanded an _army_, traveled across time and freaking space… and now you're content to sit and drink beer with me in a motel in Wisconsin?"

Martha raised her bottle.

"It _is _good beer," she teased, then sighed and leaned her head back. "It's been so long since I've done this, you know? Just sat and talked with someone, no flights to catch or reports to write or missions to organize."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "God, yes. I don't even know when the last time I've just relaxed with someone was."

Martha lifted her head back up and stared at him curiously.

"Not even with Dean?" she asked curiously.

Sam looked away and shrugged.

"Things have been pretty… strained there for a while. I mean, he hides it well, but I know he hasn't really forgiven me for, well, for anything."

Martha moved over to him and wrapped her arms around his wide shoulders.

"That's not what matters, Sam." she told him quietly. "If Dean can't forgive you, that's his problem. What you need to do is forgive yourself."

He put his arms around her in return.

"I don't deserve it." Sam said with conviction.

"I think you do."

"Well, I definitely don't deserve _you_."

Martha pushed herself back to arm's length, hands on Sam's shoulders. Her eyes were blazing.

"_What_ did you say?" she demanded. This only served to make him look more miserable.

"You're amazing, Martha. You're strong and smart and brave. The freaking _angels_ like you, and they don't like anyone! Any guy would be lucky to have you so much as look at him. You could do so much better than me, with my 'good intentions' and… I'm broken, can't you see that? I'm broken and wrong and I don't deserve anything you would give me."

"That's not true!"

"Yes, it is. I'm rotten and corrupt. Just 'the boy with the demon blood', and that's all I'll ever be-" Sam's speech was cut off when Martha's hand cracked loudly across his face. He touched his fingers to his stinging cheek dazedly and looked up at her with surprise.

"I know you, Sam." her voice was dangerous again, but this time instead of anger it cracked with sorrow. "I met a lot of people traveling the world, but _you_, you were special. You knew what it was like to have an unwanted burden, to face nightmares every day. I was breaking, you know. By America. I was all but ready to give up. I thought I couldn't do it anymore, but then there _you_ were. Forget Castiel; Sam Winchester was the first angel I ever met."

"I've changed since you met me, Martha." Sam's eyes were dewy with unshed tears, and a sad smile was pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Maybe a bit," she conceded, "but not nearly so much as you seem to think."

There were no more words to be said. It seemed that Martha's message had finally breached that shaggy head of his: That she cared about him deeply and wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Sam kissed her tenderly, and she pulled him down onto her bed. The two simply held each other for a long while.

"From what you've told me," Sam said quietly, nuzzling Martha's neck, "I think you weren't the only one who was…saved… by our relationship. You know, before."

"I know." she whispered, pressing her lips against his temple. "And I'm definitely not going to be this time around, either, if I've got anything to say about it."

* * *

Dean Winchester was frustrated. It was understandable, given the circumstances; in addition to the fact that the world was ending thanks to him and his brother, what had seemed like a fairly routine job had turned out to be monstrously weird (even by their standards), some British doctor who had apparently saved the world had a freaky love connection with Sam, and there were probably aliens involved. Oh yeah, and Bobby _wasn't answering the freaking phone._ Dean grumbled flipped his cell closed, aiming a kick at the vending machine in the empty motel lobby where he was currently pacing in annoyance. A stuffed elk's head over the main desk seemed to glare at him disapprovingly.

"What are you looking at?" he demanded of the taxidermy creature. There was no answer. The oldest Winchester groaned and sat down heavily in a chair, wondering vaguely if he was finally losing his mind.

"Um, 'scuse me. Hi there." Dean looked up sharply for the source of the voice that had distracted him from his brooding.

"Hello, I'm Maryanne Fritz." A mousy, polite-looking woman was smiling down at him.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Oh, well I was just wondering… you're one of the FBI agents, aren't you?"

Dean stood and snapped immediately into Fed mode, wondering what she wanted.

"Yes, that's me. Agent Harrison. What can I do for you?" he shook her hand jovially.

"Well, my sister met you the other day, she works at the hospital, and she told me you were looking into the… ahem, um… murders." She seemed uncomfortable even saying the word.

"That's right. Do you have any information relevant to the case?"

"Oh, I don't know about that. It's just that… Well, you _do_ know about the incident, right?"

"The what?" Dean's expression was carefully controlled, and he turned one ear closer to her and raised his eyebrows as if to say _Go on_.

"Oh, well, old Ernie Czerwinski, Ms. Anna Turner, and the little Hmong girl, now what was her name? Panee? Lilo?"

"Pa Lee? Pa Lee Xiong?" Dean suggested. These were all names of victims of this whatever-it-was the boys and Martha were investigating.

"Yes, yes. That was her. And Freddie Coenan too..." The most recent death. "I went to high school with him, you know. I didn't know him all that well, but he was a good person, I'm sure. I remember once in eleventh grade-"

"Ma'am? Uh, what was it you came over here to tell me exactly?" Dean cut her off before she could embark on a useless, long-winded anecdote.

"Oh, of course. Well, you _do_ know that they were all in that accident a while back, right?"

Dean started visibly.

"Accident?" he repeated. "What kind of accident?"

"Oh, you don't know? Now that you mention it, I guess there was never any police involvement. All the same, it was terrible business."

"_What_ was?" Dean was definitely losing his patience with this woman.

"Well," Maryanne began, sitting down and patting the chair next to her with far too much excitement. It seemed she had been waiting a while to tell this story to someone. "There was a bus driving on this old road just outside of town. The city council had been meaning to fix it up out there for years, though I'm not sure it would have done much good in this case. Anyway, the road was on the side of this big hill, and it was raining, storm of the decade, and there was a landslide! Pushed the bus right off the road, toppling it down into the trees. Three people died."

"Okay…" Dean really hoped she'd get to the point soon.

"Oh, but Ernie, Anna, Freddie, and Pan Loo-"

"Pa Lee."

"Right, yes, her. They were all on the bus! Along with a couple of other people, I think. Last I heard, Anna and Freddie had been in counseling for a while. PTSD and everything, you know?"

"Alright. Thanks so much for your help, Molly." Dean said, getting up and shaking her hand again.

"Maryanne." She corrected him with an obviously forced politeness.

"Of course, Ms. Farmer."

"Fritz." Her lips were pursed, and her answer curt.

"Right. Goodbye."

Dean went quickly back to the motel room and opened the door with a flourish.

"Sammy, we got ourselves a lead!"

There was no answer.

"Sam?" It was obvious Dean's brother wasn't in the room. "Dammit." _Completely ruined my entrance,_ he mentally grumbled, before walking back out and pounding on the neighboring door.

"Hey, Marty! Sam in there with you?"

"_Yes._" Came the muffled reply.

"Please tell me you're both clothed!"

"_Yeah, Dean. Come on in._" That was Sam, and his brother could just _hear_ the eye roll accompanying his words. The door opened and there was the man himself, sporting this season's latest bitchface and a rumpled bed head that earned him a suspicious, and at the same time approving, glance from Dean.

"Well, the two of you better make yourselves presentable, because yours truly has scored us a lead!"

"What is it?" Martha asked, already running a comb through her also-mussed hair.

"I'll tell you on the way. Come on, we got accident reports to read."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Guess what, guys? I'm alive! So, this was definitely a longer gap in between posting than I intended. I can only offer my humble apologies and this woefully short chapter in hopes of your forgiveness. Stay strong, friends. This story will be finished. I swear on the Impala, the TARDIS, and the Doctor's bow tie that you shall have an ending. In the meantime, thanks so much for your continued support. I'd like to know what you think of this so far, so please review. And now, our story continues...**

* * *

The room in the back of the police station was cramped and dusty. A nervous-looking young officer toddled around Sam, Dean, and Martha as he handed them the reports they were looking for. Mrs. Fritz hadn't been entirely right about the lack of police involvement. There had been no investigation, but the sheriff's department had reports on the details of the accident.

"Here you go, guys," the youth in the uniform chattered smilingly. "Sorry for the wait. It's much shorter than it might have been, you know, before everything was digitized. A lot of the old stuff is just kept in boxes back here. As, uh, I guess you can see..." He gestured expansively to a wall of shelving right behind them that, lo and behold, was stacked with the files in question. "Anyway, I hope it helps. I knew Pa Lee a little bit, you know. Well, I knew her cousin. I mean, we went to the same high school. I'm not sure I actually talked to her much. I mean, the Asian kids mostly just hang out with each other, and I'm, ya know, about as white as it gets... But I remember her. The Hmong students used to sell egg rolls every year. Those were good! Yeah, that must be how I knew her cousin. Actually, come to think of it, I think the egg roll sale still happens-"

"Yeah, thank you so much." Sam cut him off with a smile, taking the folders from the young man's arms and looking pointedly at the door.

"Oh! Yeah, right, of course. I'll just get out of your way then. Lemme know if you need anything!"

"Will do, buddy," Dean forced an insincere grin as the guy finally left, which fell right off his face the moment the door shut. "Christ, what is up with everyone in this town?"

"It's just the upper midwest, Dean," Sam remarked offhandedly, settling down at the table and opening up a folder. "Let's just get to work. Here, you take the technical stuff. There might have been something off about the bus itself. Martha, you want the list of passengers?"

She nodded.

"I've gotten ahold of some of the psychological reports and things from the ones who were in counseling," she informed them, patting her laptop. "I'll see what I can find there."

And thus began a bout of tireless research. Minutes became hours, and the hours stretched long and slow into the afternoon. The only sound for a long while was the rustling of paper and Martha's fingers on her keyboard, until Dean threw his share of the files down on the table with an air of finality.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm getting nowhere," he grumbled, rubbing a hand over tired eyes. "As far as I can tell, there wasn't anything freaky up with the bus."

"I'm not entirely sure what I'm even looking for," Sam admitted.

"Hold on, you two," Martha raised a finger, still staring at her screen. "I might have an idea or two."

"Yeah?" The taller Winchester leaned forward eagerly, eyes shining with a particular fascination that might be reserved for only her.

"Well," she began, in much the same tone that voiced Sam's frequent "get this"'s. "We knew that a few victims of the crash had been suffering from flashbacks and anxiety, as well as other symptoms of post-traumatic stress. But do you know exactly how many? Four. Just these four. Maybe whatever killed them did it because they had the most fear and pain out of all the survivors. Hell, could be more than anyone else in this town."

"So you're saying," Sam picked up on her train of thought right away. "That this... this thing is, I don't know, feeding on their negative emotion?"

Martha beamed.

"Exactly!"

Dean whistled.

"Great. Any idea what could be doing that?" he challenged.

"There's all sorts of lore about things like this, Dean," Sam lectured. "Almost every culture in the world has stories of creatures that feed off of the essence of human life in one way or another." Martha nodded in affirmation, staring at the lover she had lost and found again with renewed adoration. Sam caught a glance at the look in her eye and blushed, smiling shyly. Dean rolled his eyes at the two of them, at it again.

"Great," God, was it his job now or something to keep these two from rampantly banging on every available surface? "That definitely narrows it down."

"We may not know exactly what it is," Martha stated pensively, a small smile curling the edges of her mouth, "but I think I know how we can attract it."

* * *

**A/N: So I added another author's note. This one is at the end, though, so maybe that's not as annoying? I don't even know. Regardless, I feel that I should let you know that I do not live in Rhinelander. I do, however, live about an hour away from it, and I have been there on several occasions. My portrayal of North-Central Wisconsin culture is little more than a fond caricature of the place I call my home. I apologize if things are drastically different up there in Hodag country than they are down here.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This chapter was a long time coming, and I apologize profusely for that. Basically, my mindset has been "as long as Kind of a Forever Deal hasn't updated either, I'm allowed to procrastinate" which is not fair to the lovely people following this story. I love all of you, so very very much. Sartha makes family of us all. Anyway, I wasn't entirely happy with the previous couple of chapters, but I think this one is more up to scratch. Please let me know if I'm sorely mistaken and it actually sucks balls.**

* * *

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Dean grumbled as Sam and Martha fastened the ropes around his wrists. They were back in the warehouse, setting up for Martha's plan.

"Well, you wouldn't let me do it," Sam reminded him.

"And you wouldn't let me," Martha cut in, double checking the knots that tied the older Winchester's ankles to the legs of a chair. "I think we're ready."

"You guys could have held off on the ropes." Dean shifted uncomfortably.

"You need to be vulnerable, or it won't show up."

"Yeah, how do we even know that it'll show up either way?"

"It's the best plan we've got," Martha retorted, tugging Dean's bindings. "With all of the people from the bus accident dead, that makes you the most tortured person in town."

"Alright, alright, I heard the spiel already. Just lemme be the bait in peace."

Martha rolled her eyes in amused exasperation and went off to the spot where she would hide and await the arrival of their mystery creature.

Sam clapped his brother on the shoulder on his way to the door.

"You'll be fine, Dean. We got this."

"Yeah, I know Sammy. Now go on, get to your place. I wanna know that you'll be there to gank the son of a bitch if it does come to eat me." Sam smirked and walked across the room, ducking behind a crate near the front door of the warehouse. Martha was stationed at the back. There was nothing to do now but wait.

Dean was halfway through humming 'Enter Sandman' when the lights shut off. There was a shuffling sound from somewhere behind him, followed by a thump and several long moments of silence. He didn't move, didn't breathe, a lifetime's worth of sharply-honed instincts on alert for any sign of movement. There were footsteps coming closer. All he would need to do would be to call out and Sam and Martha would come running. The room wasn't huge; they could be here in a few seconds. No need to worry. Still, the darkness was unexpected, and the sharp footfalls that rang throughout in the room were getting steadily louder. The click of the person's shoes sounded like those of a woman. Probably smallish in stature, though in Dean's experience that had nothing to do with how dangerous something could be. Lilith had been partial to possessing little girls, after all. Dean's muscles tensed. The knots weren't too tight. He could be out of this chair in a matter of seconds. He counted his breaths, forcing them quiet, as the unseen individual stalked ever nearer. There was a quiet pop and the light directly over Dean's head turned on. He blinked at the sudden illumination, and flinched in aborted surprise as he took in the form of Martha Jones standing less than a foot away.

"Sh- Marty! Jesus, don't do that!" He inhaled, then let it out slowly. "What's going on?"

Martha shrugged and smiled at him. Dean did a double take, because that was not Martha's usual smile. This one was like a razor blade, wicked and cruel, all of the usual softness of her face erased.

"...Martha?"

The smile widened, and Dean was disturbingly reminded of Jack Nicholson's Joker.

"Hey, Sam!" Dean shouted for his brother, knowing something was definitely wrong. Sam slipped out of the shadows and rushed to his side, gun at the ready. Martha turned and fixed her eerie smile on him.

"Martha, what-"

She raised one hand and pointed it directly at Sam's chest.

"Of all dark things that mold and fester, there's none so tainted as Sam Winchester," she sing-songed. Sam's eyes rolled back in his head and his jaw went slack as he keeled over like a two-by-four.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted.

"An old bag from the Rexel planetary configuration taught me that. Who knew it would come in useful?" Martha turned her cold smile back to Dean.

"You bitch," he spat. "What did you do to him?"

Martha tutted.

"Oh, Dean, Dean, Dean. You of all people, doing what you do, should know about the magic in words, in names. To name something is to have power over it. It's a shame that Sammy here is so far from normal, or he'd never wake up. Hell and magic infects him. It's repulsive, really. But he'll be fine."

"I will rip out your intestines and tie them around your pretty little throat if you come one step closer, I swear to god."

"I can smell your fear, you know," Martha remarked, casual as anything. "It's potent...delicious..." She sidled up to Dean, who was struggling with the ropes around his wrists. "It's a shame that you, too, carry the mark of another dimension." She slid her fingers almost tenderly across his left shoulder, just above where Castiel's hand-print was burned into his skin. "I won't be able to kill you nicely, with your name. So we'll have to do it the old-fashioned way."

Suddenly, the edge of a knife was pressed against Dean's throat. It was as sharp and icy as the look in Martha's eyes. The change in them was dramatic, as those eyes had always been so warm and soft before. The bottom of Dean's stomach dropped as he realized that this was someone for whom he had been developing a great deal of respect. Apparently, though, it was all an act. And wasn't that just typical for the Winchesters?

"So, what, all of this, pretending to have some soul-connection with Sam that survived across the "reversal of time itself", helping us, it was all so you could get at my tortured ass?" Dean sneered. "'Cuz, I gotta say, there are much easier plans you could have gone with."

Martha made a noncommittal sound.

"I take opportunities as they come," she muttered vaguely, stroking her captive's throat with the tip of her blade. "My people are blessed with certain capabilities, so I ought to make use of them, don't you think?"

"What are you?" he asked in a low voice.

"We have a lot of names on your world. Energy vampire, succubus, demon, we even get confused for a particular breed of djinn on occasion." Martha smirked, and then her expression turned stony. "But I'm none of those. My home is farther away than you could imagine. It's made of marble, and so are we. Oh, you tiny little humans just feel so much. I could feast on the psychic energy in one of your bed-wetting little brats for weeks. Except, call me a glutton, but I like a little variety in my meals. And you, mister Winchester, are the main course. All that pain and fear and repression, oh." She licked her lips, quick and lizard-like. "I could sleep for a century on the full belly you'll give me."

Her mouth opened inhumanly wide, and Dean felt a tightening sensation deep in his chest. Panic clawed its way up his throat, rising like bile and making his heart pound. Sweat broke out across Dean's brow, and he was dimly aware that he was screaming. There was something swirling past Martha's lips and into the cavern of her mouth, twisting like smoke and with a gentle bluish glow. This energy rose from where Dean sat, coming from him somehow. It only made the terror worse.

His ordeal was cut short abruptly, however, as a fist seemed to whip out of nowhere over to Martha's right. In that fist was the butt of a gun, which cracked across her skull and she fell over with a cry. Standing there after Martha had fallen was... Martha.

"How about you sleep for a bit longer than that?" Martha Jones snarled at her doppelganger. Aiming her pistol, she fired three shots into its chest. Martha, the real Martha, had a look of fire in her eyes. She was angry.

"Tie me up a bit better next time, yeah?" she suggested to the alien corpse at her feet. "The naming doesn't work on me, either."

"Marty?" Dean asked weakly. Martha smiled and rushed to untie him from the chair.

"It's me this time, Dean. Really, properly me. Promise."

"Go check on Sam," he urged her. "I can get out of these." Martha nodded and rushed over to the prostrate form of the younger Winchester. Dean was still shaking slightly as he pulled out of the ropes, but making sure that his little brother was safe took priority, as always.

Sam opened his eyes and blinked blearily. Martha's face swam into focus above him, smiling in relief.

"What-" he began, then stopped as the events immediately preceding his state of unconsciousness came back to him. Sam pulled sharply away. His grogginess had faded quickly, and he was able to jump to his feet. "You... You betrayed us?"

"Woah, hey, Sam," Dean put his hands on his brother's shoulders. "She didn't betray us. She saved us. Look."

Sam turned, and his eyes widened in shock as he took in the sight of Martha's dead body, riddled with bullet holes and lying in a pool of greenish liquid. He did a humorous double take between the body and where the real Martha stood, alive and healthy.

"That's the thing we were after. It changed into her. Would have killed me if Marty hadn't ganked it first." Dean pulled Martha closer to them both and patted her shoulder, looking almost proud. Sam's look of hurt confusion changed drastically to one of delight. He wrapped his arms around Martha and held her tight.

"Thank you," he muttered into her hair.

"Don't mention it," she whispered, squeezing back.


End file.
